Oh no. Oh no. Of all the people to meet on top of a hill in Wales, it would have to be her. And I'm all sweaty and my hair's a mess and - well, her hair's even more of a mess, actually. There's grass in it too. I feel smug at the thought that I still look a million times better than she does, even when I feel so ugly and out of sorts.
I frown as I notice what she's carrying. "That's my sandal," I say accusingly, before she can ask me what I'm doing here.